The Places That You've Come To Fear the Most
by thetacrisisdoctor
Summary: Being the story of a cab ride, a very-one sided conversation, and the beginning of closure. Lockwood-centric.


**AN: Hello! This is my first of many - I hope - contributions to this fandom's fanfiction. I was inspired by some really great and cleverly written fics on here, so I thought, "hey, why don't I try?" Anyhow, this book is ****_so _****fantastic and I love it so much. Lockwood is by far one of the most intriguing characters I've ever met. I felt like I had to write something based solely on him. So, here is the product of that thought. Enjoy!**

The worst thing about the 23rd of August – in Anthony's opinion – is the cab ride to East London. It's about a half-hour drive from 35 Portland Row – or forty minutes, depending on the thickness of traffic – and that's a half-hour to forty minutes when his mind can wander into places he'd rather not go.

In addition to that, there's something very _dull _about taking a cab ride by oneself. That's just the opinion of someone who eradicates ghosts for a living and is known for his vigorous nature. See, Anthony Lockwood does not like peace. Anthony Lockwood does not like quiet, but he does like how adrenaline courses through his veins, liquid courage in a fight against Visitors. He lives for that kind of thrill. So, really, it's not hard to imagine that a half-hour cab ride all by his lonesome is boring.

Really, the only things remotely interesting about the cab rides are the drivers. Last year, he was driven by an older guy, covered in sleeves of tattoos and smelling faintly of cigarette smoke. The man was disarmingly friendly. Charlie was his name. Anthony liked him, and he wonders how he's doing lately. The year before, he was driven by a woman with a bush of red hair and a sullen attitude. Her responses were only grunts and she drove away like hell was riding her bumper after Anthony paid her. And this year's driver is no less interesting.

She herself is not incredibly interesting, but what she's doing, that's what intrigues Anthony. She's middle-aged, dark skinned with a round face, glasses perched on the end of a long nose, and masses of curly hair. Her eyes keep glancing in the rearview mirror, looking back at him. He initially thinks to himself that it's rather dangerous for her to be looking at him instead of the road. Wait, why is she looking at him like that? Does he know her from somewhere? Is she a former client? Maybe. He's not sure, so he decides to ask.

"Excuse me," he begins. The driver looks into the rearview mirror at him. "Have we met before?" She looks back at the road again.

"No, I don't believe we have," she states. "Although you do look very familiar." He looks out the window at the sunlight dripping through tree leaves in front yards of cozy homes. It's a lovely day outside, which makes today quite a bit better.

"Well, I'm the head of a psychic invest-"

"Oh!" Anthony snaps his eyes to the back of the woman's head, surprised by her sudden outburst. "That's right. You and your colleagues, you're the agency without a supervisor. You lot worked on that one case, the…" She furrows her brow. Her glasses slide down the bridge of her nose, and she pushes them back up with a plump finger. "Oh, tell me, which one was it?"

"Was it the Harry Crisp case, Combe Carey case, or the Edmund Bickerstaff case?"

"Mm, the last one," she decides, nodding her head vigorously. "Yes, my name's Diana Dupree, by the way. My son Jacky's an apprentice at Tendy and Sons. He loves to read the papers and talked for ages about how you solved that case." Her face breaks into a warm smile. Mrs. Dupree adores her son; it's written on her face, clear as day. "I think you've a fan, Mr... what was it again?"

"It's Lockwood," he says, beaming with pride knowing that he, Lucy, and George have a fan. It's brilliant, and it's another thing that makes August 23rd more bearable. "Anthony Lockwood."

"Yes, that's it. _Lockwood & Co.,_ I should have remembered." She pauses, bringing the cab to a stop at a red light. "But Jack is eight, has his Level Two certification and all that." Anthony nods his approval. Mrs. Dupree sighs and pushes on the gas pedal, pushing the car into motion. They're almost there, maybe four blocks away.

"You know," she begins. Her eyes meet Anthony's in the mirror again, and she's wearing a small, sad smile. "I do really appreciate the work that you children to do keep us all safe, but… I just wish there was another way. Do you know what I mean?" She takes a breath and flicks the right turn signal on. "As a mother, I get so worried when Jacky goes out with his team on a job. I've read the papers. I know that children die on jobs like that, but he's got strong Talent. He Sees very well, and he loves what he does. He's making a difference, I think, even though the blasted Problem worsens daily."

"I understand you, Mrs. Dupree," Anthony begins. He's heard it from so many disapproving adults that children should be protected and kept from harm, that what he's doing is absolutely dreadful; however, he's can't recall ever hearing it from the side of the concerned parent. It's not like there are any overset parents calling into Lockwood & Co. asking how they're doing. Lucy's mum has called not even once to see how she's doing in London; George's parents understand his work and the duty that he has to fulfill; and it's not like Anthony's parents are really able to express any concern anyway. "But your son is working with one of the biggest agencies in London, one with – might I add – the second lowest mortality rate of the Top Five in this city. I think he'll be just fine, ma'am, and I am very impressed that he has an apprenticeship with Tendy and Sons. Tell him from me that he's doing very well."

"Oh," the cab driver says, with raised eyebrows. "I didn't know that about Tendy, that they have the second lowest mortality rate." She smiles again, obviously relieved. "That makes me feel a lot better as a mother about letting Jack work." Anthony nods and returns her smile. They're a block away now. Dread starts to move back in where pride and wonder had grown.

"You're very welcome." The cab is quiet. They're a few hundred feet from the curb by the gate when Mrs. Dupree speaks up again.

"Anthony, does your mum ever worry about you?"

It's a simple enough question, but it takes quite a bit of will to keep his face neutral. He looks into the mirror again. He sees that Mrs. Dupree is watching the road instead of him.

"No, actually, my mother and father both worked for Rotwell when they were younger, and they now help Scotland Yard and DEPRAC on many investigations." The lie rolls so easily off his tongue, but that doesn't really surprise Anthony. "So I figure they understand my work and know the risks." Diana nods. The cab pulls to a stop at the curb by the gate. She looks at Lockwood in the mirror and tells him how much he owes her. With a smile, he hands her the money, wishing her a lovely day in the process.

"Thank you, Mr. Lockwood. You have a lovely day as well." She smiles at him one last time before looking at their destination. It makes her wonder what business that young man has in a place like this. As he steps out of the car, she figures it must be something that comes with working in the psychic investigations industry. She thinks about her son and wonders if he's going to soon start taking trips to graveyards like Mr. Lockwood. As the East London Cemetery grows smaller and smaller in the rearview mirrors, she hopes that he won't.

On his way to his destination, Anthony starts to appreciate the distraction that talking to Mrs. Dupree provided. It's incredible to know that he and Lucy and George have a fan, even if it's just one boy in a sea of pious adults. The thought puts a bit of a spring in his step, even though walking to his destination has always felt like walking to the gallows.

The sunlight helps his mood, despite all that. The air is humid and muggy, and he wishes he hadn't worn jeans and a long-sleeved t-shirt; it's too warm out for that. He rolls the sleeves up his arms, letting the sunlight settle on his skin.

Soon enough, he finds himself standing next to a large, gray mausoleum. It's owned by a very wealthy family. It's lovely in a sepulchral way, and there's a name engraved next to the door: Williamston. It's not what he's looking for; instead, it's a landmark for his destination and has been every year that he's visited the East London Cemetery. To his right it his destination.

Hidden in the shade of an oak tree, there are two headstones, one larger than the other. They are carved out of smooth, black granite. As Anthony approaches them, he can read the words that are carved into the faces of the stones. The first one reads:

_In loving memory_

_Nathanial Anthony Lockwood_

_31__st__ of July, 1964 - 23__rd__ of August, 2005_

_Lissandra Evelina Lockwood_

_8__th__ of January, 1963 – 23__rd__ of August, 2005_

_"__For there is love that is as strong as death"_

The other headstone reads:

_In loving memory_

_Eve Alexandra Lockwood_

_9__th__ of September, 1991 - 23__rd__ of August, 2005_

_"__I go to seek a Great Perhaps"_

He remembers the day he and Ruby picked out the headstones, decided on what words should be engraved to immortalize their parents and sister to the best of human ability. He was eight, his eldest sister nineteen, both newly-orphaned and newly-wounded. Ruby was too young to be dealing with funeral arrangements. She had just taken a job as a team leader for a branch of the Fittes Agency in Yorkshire and was supposed to leave on the first of September. Now, all of that had been put on hold while she had to figure out where she and her brother would live, how her parents should be buried, and how to deal with her newly mute brother. She'd been bitter for a while about the situation and toward her younger brother. Anthony didn't speak for a very long time following their deaths and, because of this, not very helpful.

In retrospect, Anthony doesn't blame Ruby for being angry with him, even nine years after the death of their family; he wasn't a whole lot of help during that time, but it's not as if an eight-year-old would be able to provide much support to a nineteen-year-old anyway.

The reason why they don't talk much and the reason why Ruby is not here with Anthony is based on petty, illogical reasoning, but no matter. He really doesn't need her in his life anyway, not when he's seventeen years of age and the owner of a mostly-successful psychic investigations agency.

Anthony sighs and sits down on the grassy ground. He folds his legs, looks at the two headstones, and then looks at the ground on which he sits. His parents and sister are down there, just six feet away. It's so close –

But they're not there, Anthony remembers. That's not them six feet under. He's seen enough ghosts of the once living to know that a body doesn't make a person: the soul does.

"Hello, Mum, Dad, Eve," he begins. It's a bit awkward talking to the air, but it helps, somehow.

He's grasping at straws, trying to figure out what to tell them. Within the past year, he's spent the night with Lucy and George in one of the most haunted destinations in England; had a part in the death of Mr. John William Fairfax; won a bet against a team of the celebrated Fittes Agency's operatives; and helped to lay a deadly phantom to rest for good. Anthony knows that those are exciting things, of which his parents would be proud and his sister mildly jealous.

Thinking, Anthony sits in silence for a while. He pulls his knees up to his chest and buries his head in his arms. This does not get easier as time goes on, and he has a feeling that it never will. What does he say? What _can _he say? Talking to headstones will never be the same as talking to his family in the flesh.

Soon, he realizes that it doesn't matter what he says; as long as he says something, it'll help. The graves are symbols for his family, and it's the closest he has to them. Anthony sits up straight, clears his throat, and lets the words fall out.

First, he tells his mother about the cases, tells her about Fairfax, how one of the richest and most successful men in London had a shady past. He tells her about the strange devices recovered from Combe Carey Hall. He wishes that she were able to take a look at them; his mum was an expert in psychic artifacts and tools and would not have an issue with figuring out what their purpose is.

Anthony also tells his mother about the case surrounding Edmund Bickerstaff. He tells her about the bet he, Lucy, and George were somehow able to win, despite all the adversity they faced while doing so.

He begins to tell Eve how much he regrets that she hasn't met Lucy. He knows she'd love Lucy. They're both pretty similar: dauntless, abstinent, and headstrong. He tells his older sister about Lucy's decision to lay down her life to put to rest hundreds of different spirits at Combe Carey and to unleash a vengeful ghost to serve justice. Lucy's very Talented, he tells Eve. He hears fondness creep slowly into his voice as he speaks. Anthony recognizes that this is how his father talked about his mother. At that thought, something changes inside of Anthony, though he's not willing to look into that right then.

Shoving that to the side, he begins to tell Eve how much she'd dislike George. He laughs when he imagines the two of them in the same room. She's enough like Lucy to be bothered by George but with an even less toleration of snark.

But Anthony defends his deputy. He explains to her that George isn't all sarcasm and acerbic wit: he's loyal, fiercely intelligent, and his best friend. That – to Anthony – redeems George of any rude thing he's ever said.

Anthony's dad would like definitely like George, with his brain and his quirks. He tells his father - once again - the story of how his deputy managed to steal a ghost in a silver-glass jar from the Fittes Agency vaults. He's cackling as he tells the tale, head thrown back, hand on shaking stomach. A couple passes him by as he's having a humor-induced fit. He must look absolutely _mental_, but he's with the closest thing he can get to his father, and nothing will ruin that.

Sometime after more conversation, Anthony checks his watch. He wrote on the Thinking Cloth that he'd be home in about half-an-hour. Disappointment fills him. He kind of doesn't want to leave; this is the first time that he's visited the graves and has not left feeling worse than when he'd arrived. It's the closest he's felt to better in a long time. Despite this, he smiles, not a Lockwood smile, but an Anthony one. He's noticed that he operates under two personas mostly: Lockwood, the reckless, charismatic, and stunningly bright; and Anthony, still charming, still bright, but not as intense, not as untouchable.

He explains to his family that he has to be returning home soon. Saying goodbye, he leaves the East London Cemetery to return to 35 Portland Row, and to the family he's found in Lucy and George.

George is descending the staircase in the main hallway when Anthony returns home. His iconic apron is tied around his waist. He's been cooking; Anthony can smell the roast in the air. He greets his deputy while slipping off his shoes and nudging them to the side.

"So," George begins, paused halfway down the stairs. Anthony can hear apprehension is his voice. "How did it go?"

He gives his deputy a measured look. It's an odd question for him to ask. Yes, he's told George the significance the 23rd of August holds in his life and where he goes, but George has figured that the words "family" and "parents" are topics that are off-limits. But whatever, it doesn't matter why he asked the question; it's something Anthony feels he should answer.

"It was fine," is all he says at first. After a moment's consideration, he adds onto that statement. "It helped to go there today, really." George raises his eyebrows.

"Well, that's good, then, Lockwood." A quiet comes over them again. Soon, footsteps can be heard coming toward them. Lucy appears through the library door.

"Good, you're home," she says. Anthony smiles, which pulls a smile to her face. "George insisted we wait for you to get home before we eat."

"Well, I'm here," says Anthony. "So there's no a reason to wait."

They move to the kitchen, taking their seats at the table and digging in. The conversation is light. George and Lucy don't forget to throw some banter into the discussion as well. In between the bickering, Lucy doesn't ask Anthony where he was today. Maybe George told her, maybe she just doesn't really care to know, but if she knows, he's fine with that. At least, he's more okay with her knowing that he's vulnerable, fallible now than he was before. He's glad she doesn't pry into his past. Like he's told her before, the past is for the ghosts, and he's grateful that she understands that and that he's starting to.

The 23rd of August could only be considered a good day for the first seven years of Anthony's life. He was eight when it turned into the worst day he'll ever know. He's seventeen now. Of course he's still mourning losing his family, but he's now beginning to move on. He recognizes that no matter how awful that day will be, he'll always leave that cemetery – one of the scariest places he'll ever go – and come back to a life of hunting ghosts and to a home with his two best friends, and , somehow, that makes this whole mess a bit more bearable.

**AN: So, I hoped you liked it! It's my first go at writing Lockwood (or, in this case, Anthony), and I'm hoping I nailed it. Also, I had someone review (thank you!) who mentioned Lockwood's age being inaccurate, and I thought I'd explain my reasoning behind him being seventeen. See, I decided his birthday's in July. He meets Lucy in June when he's about to turn sixteen. (Lucy says that he's "scarcely" older than she is). TSS happens six months later in November then TWS happens six months after ****_that _****in May of the following year. TWS has already happened in this fic, he's turned seventeen, and the current date is August 23rd. So, that's the reasoning behind that, just to clarify. **

**But thank you for reading this fic! And if you enjoyed it, thanks for that too! Currently, I'm in the process of a High School!AU fic that I hope to get finished soon. I promise it won't suck like High School!AUs are known for. Anyway, keep an eye out for that one.**

**Thanks again!**


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